


i am not afraid to leave you (yet i love you)

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies) RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Fluff, Late Night Phone Conversations, Longing, M/M, Missing One Another
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5841406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is your fucking fault.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In which Sebastian misses Boston (except, not <i>really</i> Boston), and it's all Chris's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i am not afraid to leave you (yet i love you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luninosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/gifts).



> For [luninosity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity), as (hopefully) a pick-me-up <3
> 
> Title from Whitman.

“This is your fucking fault.”

Chris doesn’t get a chance to look at the screen of his phone before he answers. This is because his eyes haven’t adjusted to the light, as well as the fact that it’s ass-o’clock in the morning and he really just grabbed for the damn thing in a desperate bid to make it stop.

Luckily, he’d know that voice anywhere.

“What?”

“Your fault.”

Chris groans, squinting at the bedside clock, which he’s still not sure why they have, because, y’know. Phones.

“What time is it there?”

“I don’t know!”

 

“Well, it’s 3am here,” Chris says in a tone that he thinks is entirely reasonable as he levers his body into a half-assed attempt at sitting. Which, admittedly, looks more like slumping, and his elbows have gotten kina bony after the Cap muscles recede, and they’re digging into his knee caps like a bitch.

“Wanna tell me what I did?”

Chris is very good at hearing what his fiance doesn’t say out loud. Chris is so good that, over a thousand miles, he hears the scowl before the words get spat at him across the line.

“I _miss_ it.”

As if that’s the absolutely worst thing in the world. And maybe it is. Chris doesn’t fucking know.

“Miss it?”

Chris doesn’t even know what the fuck Sebastian _means_ , honestly, and he doesn’t think it’s just the half-awake thing that’s causing the struggle.

“Yes.” Sebastian huffs, and Chris hears the creak of a bed that speaks to his lover throwing himself backward onto said bed in dramatic frustration. Chris knows this because he knows Sebastian.

Also, because he and Sebastian are actually more alike than most people would like, and Chris is known for the dramatic-bed-flop. He won’t deny it.

“I’m sitting here watching this fucking stupid Seth Meyers sketch for literally the two-hundredth time.”

Chris frowns. The severity of the situation really does depend on _which_ Seth Meyers sketch they’re talking about.

“And it’s _my_ fault.” Chris clarifies.

“Yes, it’s your fault!” Like there’s another answer. Excuse him.

“Explain this one to me.”

“I _miss_ it, you dipweed!” Sebastian whines. “I am over here on the other side of a fucking ocean and all I can think about it how I miss it!”

“Remind me again what we’re missing?”

“ _Boston_!”

“Ah.” So probably that accent sketch. Right. Chris can deal with this. “Got it.”

“And if not for _you_ , I’d have barely cared about the place over any other place, but _no_ , you have to be from there and you had to drag me up there and you had to take me everywhere to see how awesome it was and how charming their assholeishness is and just, just,” Sebastian growls, and Chris is half asleep, sure. But.

But that noise gets him hard like nobody’s business. Fuckin’ hell.

“This is _your fault_.”

“I see,” Chris conceded bladly. “That makes sense.”

Which, given Sebastian’s notoriously skewed logic in such situations: yes. Yes it does.

“Damn straight it does.”

See? It does.

“You could at least watch, like, _Good Will Hunting_ or something,” Chris suggests. “ _The Town_. Rather than Seth Meyers.”

“Already done that,” Sebastian laments idly, half sadness and half exasperation that Chris had _dared_ to think that he hadn’t. :I also watched your bit on deflategate for about three hours.”

“You didn’t.”

Sebastian smirks, Chris can _hear_ it. “You know better.”

“Shit.”

Well, at least that’s a boner-killer enough of a thought to save Chris from jacking off from the effects of the growling. That works.

The line goes quiet for a moment. And another. And Chris knows Sebastian won’t say what’s really the matter. Neither would he, neither _does_ he, when the tables are turned.

“How much longer you got there?” Chris finally asks, as if he doesn’t know. Down to the hour.

“Two weeks.”

And seven hours. Twenty-eight minutes.

That’s assuming a slight delay on the second connection at Heathrow.

“Need me to send you, like, I dunno,” Chris thinks. “Mike’s? Leone’s?”

“It wouldn’t get here and still be good,” Sebastian pouts, and oh, but the image in Chris’s head of that face, those lips. That image hits Chris real hard, just then.

Fuck, but all he wants is to be there to kiss that pout and smoothe it soft and gentle, before nipping hard and then, then...

“You never know. I could probably figure something out.”

Sebastian huffs not a laugh, but a something, and it’s breathy enough to fit Chris’s inner monologue real nicely. 

He’s probably gonna have to rub one out anyway. Oh well.

“Want like, a Fenway magnet or something?”

“Chris,” Sebastian starts, and there’s that exasperation again. Chris should probably feel a little ashamed for how much he loves that tone in Seb’s voice.

He’s not though. At all.

“Red Sox shirt?”

“ _Chris_ \---”

“Oh, wait, you took _mine_ , you asshole. I wanted to wear it,” Chris jibes without any heat. He stole Seb’s undershirt that he uses for sleeping, They’re square.

“Chris!”

“Hmm?”

Sebastian’s quiet, but just for a second.

“You know I don’t really miss the city.”

“That so?” Chris says, feigns the surprise, the disbelief. “Sure _sounds_ like you miss it. I mean, you did call me in the middle of the night to blame me for it.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

And Chris can’t resist the tug in his chest when he thinks about the man he loves calling him to bitch about the fact that Chris has made Sebastian _miss_ him, because god forbid. 

“Want me to fly over?”

Still: that doesn’t mean that Chris feels any different, in return.

“No. No, you have stuff, and I have two weeks,” Sebastian protests, but it’s pretty mild. Naw, man: it’s shit, really. It’s a shitty protest. “It’s fine.”

Chris wants to push, would have Kayak open on his phone in a heartbeat, but he thinks that’d be more for him than Sebastian, really. More for the way Chris doesn’t sleep right with an empty side of the bed.

“For what it’s worth?” Chris finally says instead. “I don’t miss Boston.”

“Duh. You’re _there_.”

“I miss _you_ ,” Chris says it, because that’s how it works. The one who gets the call says it out loud. “Something awful.”

“Aww,” and it’s that heart in that voice that Chris first fell for. That Chris wants to keep forever and for always. “Chris.”

“Stayed in bed all day yesterday and watched Star Trek because it made me think of you.”

“ _Chris_.”

“Two weeks, baby,” Chris heaves a sigh. “Think we can both make it?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, and it’s stronger now, because he’s bolstering Chris. Because it’s Chris who needs it, too. “Yeah, we’ll make it.”

Chris smiles softly, and maybe he cradles the phone closer to his ear. “Boston’ll be waiting for you.”

“And Boston better have cleared his schedule for a week, at least, so I can keep him in our bed for most of it.”

Chris’s smile widens, and, while he doesn’t like to speak for a whole city?

“Done.” 

He thinks this time, he can make an exception.


End file.
